


Mac + Breakfast + Jill + Dreams

by Project7723



Series: five times mac looks out for his phoenix family, and one time they look out for him [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkward people are awkward, Because I can't leave him out of things apparently, Because the World Needs More Jill Morgan, First Up Jill, Gen, Intended as Friendship/Gen, Jill is chill but also kind of a fangirl, Mentioned Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2015), This is totally not a 5x05 avoidance tactic, but can probably be seen as shippy if you wanna do le squinty squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28832625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project7723/pseuds/Project7723
Summary: The one where Mac gives Jill a ride home and they stop for pancakes and chat about nightmares.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver & Jill Morgan (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: five times mac looks out for his phoenix family, and one time they look out for him [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114061
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	Mac + Breakfast + Jill + Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who hasn't seen 5x05 yet?? Thaz right. It me. So no spoilers, please!! I'll probably watch it tonight, when I can ugly cry without anyone noticing, if necessary. 
> 
> In the mean time, have a totally unrelated fic about Mac and Jill going out for pancakes! I was rewatching Pliers a bit ago, and was struck by how much I love helpful!Mac. I mean, he's always helpful, he's MacGyver. But it's really sweet when he's helping _people_ , on more of a one-on-one level (one of my favorite things about OG MacGyver). So here's the first installment of a smol series 'bout helpful!Mac :)
> 
> I own nothing. Hugs to Pluto for letting me reference my girl Reese, because I love her.

“Jill?”

Jill jerks awake, sitting up too quickly and smacking her head on the corner of the monitor on her desk. She moans something indecipherable, rubbing at the tender spot as she slowly rises the rest of the way.

There’s a sympathetic hiss to her right. “Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Jill parts the curtain of her sleep-mussed hair to see Agent MacGyver standing before her, his hands outstretched as if seeking to help in some way, but afraid of making the situation worse. She blinks, her brain much slower to wake than the rest of her. 

“No,” she mumbles, “it’s okay, I shouldn’t have been—” Her eyes widen as embarrassment flashes through her, heat flooding her face. She had just been face-planted in her desk, napping, supposed to be working on—something, and she was known for her snoring. So of course, this would be the time Phoenix’s most “decorated” agent would decide to pay her a visit. With her luck, she’d probably been drooling. She thumbed discreetly at the corner of her mouth, relieved when it came away clean.

MacGyver was still watching her, head bent slightly to catch her eyes, his own full of concern and—curse him—the faintest twinkle of amusement. She stares blankly back for a long moment, searching for words that could possibly make this experience marginally less mortifying, before giving up and turning back to her desk, her face falling to her hands with a dull smack. A groan escapes her lips.

“Uh...are you?”

Her voice is rich in misery despite it’s muffled quality. “Am I what, Agent MacGyver?”

“Okay. Are you okay? Do I need to get somebody? I think Reese is still in, if you—”

“No.” She sits up and reluctantly turns to face him. “I’m—I just—I’m trying to catch up on a few things, is all.”

“What, sleep?”

He meant it as a joke but her eyes fall in a way that is clearly a tell, given the way MacGyver’s demeanor changes.

She decides to take the joke and roll with it. “Sure! I do my best sleeping when I’m face-planted in my desk.”

Her effort falls flat when MacGyver frowns. Great. Why had she thought a joke was a good idea?

“Jill,” he begins after a moment, his voice musing, “I’ve been in and out of here a lot the past couple days what with the…” he gestures vaguely and she nods. There really was no good way to sum up the Phoenix’s latest big problem. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure every time I’ve come in, you’ve been in here, too. Is that right?”

Her eyes dart to the left. “I mean, I don’t, um—I haven’t been keeping track of your lab visits, Agent MacGyver, so—” She dares to look up and regrets it instantly. He’s watching her with eyebrows raised in an expression that reminds her of Agent Dalton. “Yes.” It’s almost a whisper.

He nods thoughtfully and perches on the edge of her desk, fingers picking at the rolled-up cuffs of his flannel in a way that reminds her of a spider designing its web. 

“Have you been home at all?”

She looks up from his fingers almost guiltily, the flush rising in her cheeks again. But he’s not looking at her, frowning instead at something in the middle distance as his fingers continue to pluck and worry at his sleeve.

“Um—I—well—”

Now he does look at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an incredulous _come on, man_ expression.

She drops her eyes. “Not in a few days, no.”

“How many days?”

“Um, what is today?”

“Friday.”

“I came in on Tuesday,” she supplies, pride at managing to finally string together a concise answer fading when she realizes how bad it sounds.

MacGyver just nods, his face unreadable. “You’ve been sleeping in the bunk rooms, then?”

“Uhm...not exactly.”

The frown is back, faintly creasing the skin between his brows. “ _Have_ you been sleeping?”

“Yes,” she claps back indignantly. Too quickly, apparently. Something changes in his expression. Like he knows.

“Couch?”

“Yes.”

“That couch?” MacGyver shrugs toward the vinyl minimalist’s excuse for a sofa in against the wall.

“Yes.” Her voice has lost its confidence.

He snorts. “So you _haven’t_ been sleeping.”

It’s her turn to frown. “I’m sorry, I don’t—” 

“Come on, Jill, I’ve slept on that couch. I’ve also been more comfortable sleeping on rocks.”

She huffs in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s like, ninety percent plastic.”

“Well, actually, it’s a blend of vinyl and—never mind. Doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, and she is once more the focus of keen eyes. “Jill...” A glance at his watch. Who even wears watches anymore? “It’s almost one in the morning. What are you working on?”

She checks her screen, then the papers she had been using as a pillow. Trying to remember which task she had been doing when she fell asleep. “Um...trying to clear up the security camera footage you and Agent Dalton brought in this morning. I think.”

He makes a face. “That’s like, second-to-last burner priority.”

“It’s what?”

“Sorry. Bozer expression. I mean it can wait until you’ve had some rest. Go home, Jill. Get some sleep.”

She bites her lip. She knows what will happen if she goes home, if she tries to sleep. Even her pithy couch sleep isn’t free from the dreams. She wants to protest, but MacGyver is still watching her and his expression is so hecking _earnest_. “You’re right.” The words are out before she has a chance to stop them. Oh, well. She can just binge _Once Upon a Time_ , or something.

Then he grins at her and her apprehension all but vanishes as she feels a smile creeping across her own lips in response. “Great,” he exclaims. Then concern fades his smile. “Are you good to drive?”

Dread pools in her stomach. Darn it.

“Jill?”

“I, um. When I came in on Tuesday, I carpooled.” The last word is almost a whisper.

MacGyver’s eyes follow hers around the deserted lab. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s fine. I was just heading out myself. I can give you a ride.”

The dread tailspins into near-panic. “Oh, no, no, no, no. No. No, that’s fine, I couldn’t ask you to do that—”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

“—and one more night on the couch really won’t hurt. I have a lot of work to do, anyway, and you don’t even know where I live…” Her protests trail off as she scrambles to find more.

“You could always...tell me.”

A breathless laugh. “Well, yeah. That’s—that’s true.” Not to mention heckin’ obvious. The mental facepalm she gives herself would make Captain Picard proud.

A smile and a frown are paired on MacGyver’s face and she can practically see the wheels in his head turning as he tries to interpret her reaction. “I don’t bite, Jill.”

“What? No! Of course you don’t bite. That would be ridiculous.”

“Okay. Do you bite?”

“ _No._ That would be—” 

“—ridiculous.”

She pushes her glasses back into place. “Right.”

“Right.”

“Right.” The mental facepalm deepens.

“So—now, correct me if I’m leaving anything out—what we’ve got here are two adults, neither of whom bite, both of whom want to go home and get some sleep, one of whom has the means to do so and is willing to share. So far so good?”

A hesitant nod, the anxiety fluttering faster as she realizes she isn’t getting out of this one.

“Okay. So, what am I missing here, Jill? Is there some—” 

“I have this thing,” Jill blurts, squeezing her eyes closed and shaking her head, “about inconveniencing people.” She curses the way it comes out like a question. “Ever since I can remember. Asking favors or needing help—whatever, it just...it really stresses me out. A lot. I know it sounds weird, but, um...Yeah. It’s, uh—it’s a problem.”

“Oh.” MacGyver scratches the rim of his ear and his eyebrows seem to shrug. “Believe it or not, I actually totally get that.” He shrugs for real. “But I don’t feel inconvenienced. And,” almost an afterthought, “there’s no way I’m leaving you here, so the sooner you let me take you home the sooner I can get to my home and go to sleep.”

Jill deflates. “You, um. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

He laughs, and something eases inside of her. “I’m positive. Come on,” he stands, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “You got a bag or anything?”

“Yeah, I—it’s right here.” Her fingers scratch against the polka-dot canvas of her backpack and she pulls it out from under the desk, resting it at the foot of her chair as she begins to shut down the computer and return the paperwork to their proper files. “Sorry. This might take a second.”

“No need to apologize.”

“Right, uh—sorry.” She cringes.”Sorry.”

MacGyver’s voice is soft, and she thinks she hears a smile in it, but she’s too afraid to look. “Don’t worry about it.”

Computer shut down and files locked safely back in her drawer, Jill stands and reaches for her bag, blinking when her hand swipes at empty air.

“Ready?”

She looks up to see MacGyver standing with her bag slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Oh, you don’t have to carry that.” She reaches out to take it from him, but he steps away, heading for the door.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

She kicks herself as she follows. Of course he would grab her bag, he was known for being a perpetually nice guy. She should have been paying more attention. A wince as she remembered the astronomy textbooks she’d been hauling around.

There is the slightest falter in MacGyver’s steps before he continues on. “Hey, uh—could you get the lights?”

“Sure!” Too eager. “Sure.” She has half the switches flipped before she freezes and shoots him a side-eye. He blinks back at her innocently. “Are you having me turn out the lights so that I feel helpful?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Mhmm.” She flips the remaining switches and shakes her head. “Well, sadly, it worked.”

MacGyver chuckles as they head into the hall, their steps bouncing off walls to echo in the stillness. She keeps pace with him, two steps for his every one, determined not to slow him down. He’s already lost half an hour that he could have spent sleeping.

“Phoenix is kind of creepy when it’s deserted,” he says after a minute. She looks up in surprise as he continues. “I mean, I know the night team is just a couple floors up, but it’s so quiet, you’d never know. I can’t help feeling like fake Doctor Zito is gonna pop out from a shadow with Bozer’s prosthetic melting off his face.”

He passes it off with a laugh, but Jill shudders involuntarily, unable to smother the spike of fear that goes through her at the mention. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks about that.”

MacGyver’s steps slow and he glances at her. “Right.”

“But obviously, we’re safe, right?” She attempts to bolster them both. “I mean, Matty has doubled security, and what are the odds it would happen twice in two months?”

MacGyver smirks at her. “Right.”

“Right.” She shuffles along beside him, lifting one shoulder as she admits, “Still wouldn’t mind if Agent Dalton were with us, though.”

He shoots her a mock wounded expression.

Shoot. “I mean—not that—I know you’re—but you—I just mean, you don’t carry a gun, and you’re—you’re…” She trails off. There is no good way to finish that sentence.

He finishes it for her. “...not Jack-sized?”

Her silence is an answer and he laughs.

“You make some very good points.”

“I do?”

“You do. But don’t worry, Jill.” He winks. “I passed my last combat qualifications with colors.”

She frowns. “I think you mean _flying_ colors.”

“Nope. Just...colors. Black and blue, mostly. A little purple. But I did pass.”

“Oh. Great.” She echoes his laugh, albeit somewhat nervously. “I gotta get in on some of that.”

A skeptical glance. “Bruises?”

“What? No! Combat training.”

He shoots her a look she can’t read as he pushes open the door and they step out into the LA night.

“Mmm.” She breathes deeply. “Nothing like a hot, smoggy breeze when you’ve been in a lab with air conditioning and filtered air for three days.”

He laughs again and a bit more of her tensions bleeds away. “Four days. It’s Friday. Well, Saturday, now.”

“Oh, yeah.”

At his Jeep, he goes to open the passenger side door for her but she springs forward and latches her fingers around the handle before he can reach it. He holds up his hands, startled.

She feels suddenly very sheepish. “Sorry. Uhm, I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to be nice, and I…” she bites her lip. “Just—let me get this?”

He relaxes and she does, too. “Sure. Go for it. I was never much good at opening doors, anyway.” He shrugs her bag down his shoulder and hands it to her as she climbs into her seat.

“That’s not what they say around the lab.”

His brow quirks as he slides into his own seat. “Do they say a lot around the lab?”

“Oh, no. I mean, not _just_ the lab. Every department has MacGyver stories.”

The rueful smile of a man who has long since accepted his lot in life tugs at his lips as he shakes his head and turns the key in the ignition.

“Did you really jump out of the seventy-fourth floor of the Empire State Building with a glider made out of a rug and an old woman’s walker?”

MacGyver lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Uh, no. No, I did not do that.”

Jill tries to hide her disappointment, but he must have picked up on it, because,

“Can’t believe everything you hear, Jill.”

She blusters. “I know, I don’t. I know most of the stories are only talk, I just...always kinda hoped that was one of the true ones.”

He’s still chuckling, but he has the grace to look sympathetic. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She shrugs. “I guess the ‘myth’ in ‘man, the myth, the legend’ had to come in somewhere.”

“Uh, yeah.” The chuckles kick up a notch, taking on a strangled quality. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They drive in silence once they’re on the highway, and Jill watches the city lights go by, wishing they didn’t block out the light of the stars.

“Hey, Jill?”

She turns back.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh…” It really does not look good that she has to ponder this question. “This morning. I had a protein bar this morning.” MacGyver hums thoughtfully and an idea strikes her. She hesitates a moment. “When was the last time _you_ ate?” It stands to reason that if he had been in and out of the lab enough to realize there hadn’t been time for her to go home, he probably hasn’t spent much time away, either.

He huffs a laugh and there’s an awkward beat before he realizes she’s serious. “Oh. Uh…” She smirks inwardly as he begins to chew his lip. “You know what?” The turn signal clicks on and he pulls off on the nearest exit. “Let’s both get something to eat.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I—” 

He gives the steering wheel a light slap and shakes his head. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. I should have asked first, I just figured you need to eat, I need to eat, may as well—” 

“No!”

“No?”

“No, I mean, yes. I just—you said—you said you wanted to go home and sleep, and you’ve already taken so much time…” She trails off.

“Yeah, well. Bozer’s on a—” he shoots her a side-eye, “Bozer’s out of town, which means if I go home, I probably won’t be eating anything, and if Jack finds out—and he will—that I went this long without...Well. Yeah. Eating out is my best option at this point. But I can absolutely drop you home, first, if you—” 

Her stomach chooses that exact moment to gurgle its displeasure at her inattention. She claps a hand over it as if that will somehow help. It doesn’t. “Well, I, uh. I guess that answers that question.”

He chuckles and lets out a deep breath.“Okay. There’s a twenty-four-hour diner, up here, I think. They only serve breakfast, but Riley and I stopped there awhile ago and it was surprisingly good.”

“Okay. I like breakfast. Breakfast is good.”

Aside from themselves and a skeleton staff, the diner is deserted when they enter, but MacGyver still guides her to a corner booth along the inner wall, himself taking the seat against it. She glances around, her crash courses on visibility and exit strategy flashing through her mind. They’re right by a door, and she knows from where he sits, MacGyver can see virtually the entire room, and into the kitchen. 

“So, Agent MacGyver,” she starts after they’ve placed their orders and she no longer has the excuse of the menu for cover. “In the car, you said since Bozer was gone, you wouldn’t be eating at home. You don’t cook?” 

He laughs and she rushes back through her words, trying to find the source of his amusement. 

“Did I...Is that funny?” 

“No. No, I’m sorry. It’s just—you can call me Mac, Jill.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And to answer your question, no. When I try to cook, things tend to get a little...explosive. At best.”

She pushes her glasses up. “Not even baking?”

“It has yet to end well. I kind of gave up when Bozer moved in.”

A frown as she processes. “But baking is just chemistry. Aren’t you supposed to be like, insanely good at chemistry? I mean, how else could you have known to save the Swedish count with window cleaner and WD40?”

MacGyver blinks blankly at her.

“Oh. I guess...I guess that was another one of the myths.”

He shakes his head. “I not even sure Sweden has counts. In fact, now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve actually been to Sweden.”

“Well. Hi, balloon, I’m pin,” she mutters.

Mac laughs and Jill smiles, the last dredges of anxiety seeming to fade away. 

When their plates come, heaped with pancakes and fruit, they fall into an easy silence. Or, Jill thought it was easy. When she glances up, she finds Mac frowning slightly, chewing slowly as he contemplated...something. A frown furrows her own brows as she turns back to her plate, mind working double time trying to guess what he might be thinking so hard about.

“Do you have a loud roommate?”

Her eyes flick back up in surprise. “No? Why—” 

“What about your neighbors?”

“What about my neighbors?”

“Are they loud? Or, I don’t know, creepy?”

“Most of my neighbors are pushing eighty, so no, not really.” Her head dipped to the side. “Well. I suspect Miss Thelma might have someone buried in her backyard. But she’s not loud.” The frown returns. “Why, um—why do you ask?”

Mac’s plate is more or less empty now, and he leans back, folding his arms behind his head and stretching. “Well, we’ve established that a night the couch— and I use that word generously—in the lab is roughly equivalent to a night being interrogated in an Egyptian prison.” 

Jill felt her eyes bug. Now _there’s_ a story they didn’t tell at the lab. 

“So,” he went on, casual in a way that meant he knew exactly where he was going with this, “I figured if you were willing to camp out on that sad excuse for furniture, there must be something keeping you from sleeping at home. Roommate with a weird sleep schedule, crazy neighbors…” 

He trailed off and Jill squirmed, taking a sip of her tea and studiously looking anywhere but him. 

“Dreams?”

Her eyes cut to his. His gaze is gentle and she looks away again, letting out a shaky breath. She hasn’t told anyone about the dreams. “Doctor Zito. Or, fake Doctor Zito.” She shakes her head. “I keep dreaming that he—it’s silly. That was weeks ago, and I didn’t even get hurt. But I’m still having these dreams, and I just...can’t seem to shake them.” Barely more than a whisper, “I was hoping no one would find out.”

She senses more than sees Mac’s nod. “Sometimes talking helps.”

“Do you talk about your dreams?”

He looked at her in surprise, something defensive flashing through his eyes before he relaxed again and let out a huff. “No. No, I don’t.” His shoulder lifts in a halfhearted shrug. “I probably should, though.”

“Yeah, well.” She stared into her tea. “That’s a lot easier said than done.” 

His voice is soft. “Yeah.”

The meal is finished in silence, companionable but heavier, now. The waitress brings the check and Mac moves to cover it, but she reaches out to snag his finger before he can touch pen to paper. His eyes fly up to hers in alarm, but he chuckles when he catches what she can only imagine looks like unhinged desperation in her own. They pay with cash, splitting the bill and tip between them. 

They don’t talk in the car, and twenty minutes later, they pull up in from of Jill’s house. She sits there in the dark, staring at her closed door, Mac almost forgotten beside her. Getting home was supposed to be a good feeling—used to be one of her favorite feelings. So why can’t she banish the cold fear roiling in her gut? She swallows.

The overhead lights switch on and she jumps, turning to see Mac watching her, a sympathy in his eyes that makes her drop her own, studying a scratch on the center console.

“Jill,” he starts and pauses a moment. “You’re not alone in this. I want you to know that.”

She nods, unable to squeeze any words past the lump burning her throat.

“This job is...well, life or death experiences kind of come with the territory. And nightmares come with that. It’s not a fit for everyone.”

She looks out the window, her heart dropping at his words, her secret fear voiced out loud. Confirmed. 

Then his hand covers hers and he gives it a gentle squeeze. “And if you decide it’s not for you, Jill, that’s okay. You’ve got nothing to prove.”

She feels the tears pooling in her eyes and blinks furiously against them. One escapes anyway.

“But I’ve seen what you can do. You’re one of the best, Jill, and only getting better. You can do great things at Phoenix. The dreams, Jill? Those are normal. Natural. And they will fade. They will get easier. And they do _not_ make you less of an agent. They do not mean you’re unfit.” His hand is removed. “I just wanted you to know that.”

She nods and turns to look at him. His eyes are kind, and there is a...solidarity in them that surprises her. Another tear slips free and her chin trembles as she tries to smile. “Thanks.” Barely more than a whisper. 

Mac looks almost guilty. “I’m sorry this happened. That you’re having them. The dreams.”

She shrugs, her voice louder, but still unsteady when she says, “You said they’ll get better, right?”

“I did.” The conviction in his voice is more reassuring than she would like to admit.

“Besides,” she tries to joke, “I bet my dreams about a boomer with a gun have nothing on your dreams.” She winces as the words come out sounding less humorous than they did in her head.

“I hope not,” he says softly. Then he smirks at her and it only takes a second longer than usual for the twinkle to reach his eyes. “Tonight I’m probably going to be dreaming about jumping out of the seventy-first floor of the Empire State Building with nothing but a rug.”

“Seventy-fourth floor—” 

“Even worse.”

“—and you had a chair. Besides, would that be such a bad dream?”

“Jill—you may wanna brace yourself for this one—I’m afraid of heights.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you messing with me right now?”

“I never joke about heights.”

She settles back in her chair, shaking her head. “You know, it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that?” 

“Never meet your heroes.”

Mac laughs and she joins him, but then she feels his demeanor shift.

“Jill,” he starts, somewhat hesitantly, “if it would help, I don’t know, make you feel safer, I could park out here for the night. So you wouldn’t be alone.”

Jill looks up at him and considers, noticing for the first time that the heavy fear she’d felt when they first pulled up has all-but disappeared. She smiles. “I think I’m gonna be okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” With a burst of spontaneity unusual for her, Jill leans forward and hugs Mac. He stiffens for a fraction of a second and she almost panics, but then his arms came up and he returns the embrace.

“You will be okay, Jill.” His voice is low and deep in her ear. “And you’re never alone. If you need help, you reach out, yeah?”

She nods. "Thank you, Mac.” She hopes he understands the depth of her statement, because she doesn’t think there are words for what she is trying to say.

He gives her hand another squeeze as he pulls away to catch her eyes. “Anytime, Jill. _Anytime.”_

She nods, smiling her thanks as she reaches for her bag and pops the door open. Her feet hit the pavement with a dull thud and a flicker of doubt flutters through her stomach. She looks back at Mac. He smiles and she takes a deep breath, pushing the door closed and lifting her chin as she takes the first step. Then another, then one more, then one more, until she is on her porch.

She turns back. The smile on Mac’s face is still present, reassuring. She waves and she unlocks her door, stepping into the dark hall. It’s not until she has the door locked and the lights on that she hears Mac pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> Jill strikes me as a Once upon a Time gal, anyone else?
> 
> If 5x05 doesn't totally throw off my groove and send me spiraling (which it probably will), Riley's should be up next. :)


End file.
